


Platonic

by angeloscastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloscastiel/pseuds/angeloscastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The study of Plato's Symposium in a tiny, six-student ancient Greek class is a strange setting for a romance - but then again, nothing about a relationship between exuberant, hedonistic Dean Winchester (who has called their professor at 2am promising to do unseen translations in return for him posting bail) and earnest theology student Castiel Milton (whose idea of living on the edge is spending his grocery money on books) was going to be normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel Milton doesn’t know what to expect from his new Greek class. He’s just transferred, it’s halfway through the year and Greek classes at any university in the world are tiny, close-knit and exclusive – particularly two and a half years in. He was in a class of twelve at his last school, and he vividly remembers when a new student came in at the beginning of their second year – it took six months before they stopped referring to him as ‘the new guy.’ He’s labouring under no false illusions as he hesitantly pushes open the door of the classroom.

There are four students already seated, books out and chatting amongst themselves, and Castiel feels incredibly self-conscious as those four sets of eyes are fixed immediately on him. The silence, however, is fleeting.

“χαιρε, ξενε!” A man – older than the others, but still only Castiel’s age (and incredibly attractive, but Castiel files that under ‘things to worry about later’) grins cheerfully at him and gestures to the seat beside him. “καθιζε.”

Castiel feels a brief moment of panic – his spoken Greek is more or less nonexistant, and while he could understand what was just said to him he doubts he can handle a conversation – but the man sticks out a hand as Castiel sits down and says “Hey, I’m Dean.”

“Castiel,” he responds, shaking Dean’s hand.

“Cassiwhat?”

“Castiel.” One day, Castiel wants to meet someone who responds to his name the same way they would respond to a Matt or a Sam or a John. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive his parents for it, but it’s still better than _Balthazar_.

“Like the angel?” The guy on Dean’s right pipes up. He’s impossibly tall, with long hair and an eager smile. “Castiel, the angel of Thursdays?”

“I was born on a Thursday,” Castiel says with a slight roll of his eyes –  twenty-two years of giving the same line of explanation because your parents decided to name you something stupid gets old, but he’s impressed with the guy for even knowing that Castiel is the angel of Thursdays – he forgets most of the time that it’s a really obscure fact.

“Sorry,” the guy says. “You probably get that all the time. I’m Sam, by the way. This is Charlie – ” he gestures to the redheaded girl beside him – “and Kevin.” Kevin is at the far end of the table, holding a dictionary open in one hand and hovering a pen over his text with the other. He waves the pen absently at Castiel in greeting without looking up.

“So what are we reading this term?” Castiel asks.

Dean grins. “The _Symposium_. You done Plato before?”

“A bit of the _Republic_. The _Symposium_ will be much more interesting.”

“Is Meg coming today?” Charlie asks, idly flicking through her text. Castiel feels awkward and unprepared, already trying to work out if he can run to the campus bookstore and buy the Symposium before the professor arrives.

“She said she was,” Dean says, sliding his copy of the book between him and Castiel. “But it’s not even ten yet. If she was here, hell’s frozen over. Where’d you transfer from, Cas? – I can call you Cas, right?”

“Pontiac, Illinois. And yes, thank you for not calling me Cassie.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “You’re welcome. _Cassie_?”

Castiel pulls a face in response, not getting a chance to respond as the door opens again and a bearded man dressed in old jeans, plaid and a baseball cap enters the room, drops the _Symposium_ and a pile of papers on the table and casts an eye around the room. “Which one o’ you idjits is missing?”

“Meg,” Dean says.

“Course she is,” the man grumbles. He catches Castiel’s eye, looks confused for a moment, then nods to himself. “Milton, right? Cassio or something?”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel, yeah, knew it was something like that. Well, welcome to the most sorry bunch of classical Greek students I’ve ever had the misfortune to teach. I’m Bobby. But call me Professor Singer if you talk about me to the department, coz they think I’m too informal with you lot. We’re doing the Symposium this term, by the way.”

“Dean told me. I’ll buy it this afternoon.”

“Right. So how many lines have you kids prepared for today?”

“None.” A dark-haired girl saunters into the room, sliding into the seat beside Castiel.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Bobby grumbles. “Since you’re late, you can translate the first ten lines unseen. And bring me a coffee too,” he adds, nodding at the takeaway cup in the girl’s hand. Castiel assumes this is Meg.

Despite not having prepared the translation, Castiel volunteers to go after Meg and surprises himself with how well he does, Bobby only offering one minor correction before it’s Dean’s turn. By the time the class is over, Castiel feels almost more a part of this one than he did at his previous university, and he walks across campus with Dean and Sam. They’ve offered to show him the bookstore and Dean asks what other courses he’s taking.

“Oh – I’m actually working towards my masters. Theology.”

“And you need Greek for that, right? Do you read Hebrew?”

Castiel nods. “And Aramaic. Slowly. Are you a Classics major?”

“Yeah, no idea what I’m doing with it yet though. Guess I should probably figure that out, huh?”

“That’s what grad school is for,” Castiel says with a shrug. “Is everyone else in the class majoring in Classics?”

“Nah. Kevin’s biomed, Charlie’s computer science, Meg’s a grad student in history with a weird fascination for medieval torture…they all take Greek for fun. I don’t understand their idea of fun.”

“I was the only one in my last class who wasn’t a Classics major. I felt like a heretic.”

“You’re in good company here.”

“I suppose I am.” As Dean returns his smile, Castiel feels that maybe there is more truth to Dean’s comment than either of them realise.


	2. Phaedrus

Dean can’t figure out whether Castiel Milton is the best or worst thing to happen to his academic success. On the one hand he’s gorgeous and therefore distracting as hell, and Bobby’s lecturing on syntax or the possible interpretations of a particular word (which are never what you expect them to be, because it’s Plato) goes in one ear and out the other – but on the other hand, Greek has always been Dean’s time to shine and he’s been spending even more time on his preparation lately, making sure his translation is perfect because…well. Maybe he’s trying to impress Castiel. Castiel seems to be the sort of guy who would be impressed by good Greek.

“The hell lit a fire under your ass?” Bobby asks eventually, poking his head inside the Classics department library where Dean’s been working on Phaedrus’s speech for the last couple of hours.

“What are you talking about? I’ve always been an exemplary student.”

Bobby grunts. “Like hell. You haven’t been cheating by looking at English translations, have you?”

“I’m _wounded_ that you would even suggest that.” Dean gestures to the books in front of him. “Just Greek here.”

“Well, I ain’t complaining. How’re you finding Latin?”

“It’s all right. Well, Henricksen’s great, but Greek is my baby.”

“Good to hear.” Bobby grins, his beard twitching. “Lose enough of my students to Latin as it is.”

“Not me,” Dean promises. “Though Sammy’s been raving about Ovid.”

Bobby shakes his head in mock sadness. “He’s a Latinist through and through, your brother. Number of times he’s done his translations unprepared because he was too busy with whatever Latin author – what kind of man prefers Caesar to Herodotus anyway?”

“The wrong kind.”

Bobby nods, closing the door behind Dean as he returns to his office, and Dean turns his attention back to the speech.

 

* * *

 

On Fridays, they have a symposium. Symposium is a pretty loose term, Dean admits – and in fact the only claim it really has to the word is they (and Dean, especially) prefer the term “symposium” to “drinks with my ancient Greek class.” It started out as something bordering on a proper symposium – in their first year, they got permission to gather on campus, drink wine out of kylikes and (attempt to) discuss philosophy, but everyone either got bored and went home early, or got extremely drunk and ended up at McDonalds eating cheeseburgers at 4am which ruined the tone a bit. Now they cycle around different nearby bars and people’s places – last week they watched the Hobbit at Charlie’s, the week before was a Dungeons and Dragons game in Kevin’s dorm, and this week it’s Meg’s turn to host, which means either drinks in her garage or –

“Foxhole tonight, gang?” Meg asks as they file towards the door after class. “I would invite you round, but we have no heating at the moment and it wouldn’t be nice.”

“What happened to your heating?” Kevin asks.

“Don’t ask. See you at eight? Kev?”

“Yeah.”

“Sam’n’Dean?”

“Course.”

“Charlie?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Castiel?”

“Me?” Castiel seems startled to be included in the invitation. “Oh, if you’re inviting me…”

“It’s a class thing. You’re in the class.”

“In that case, I’ll see you there.” He smiles, his entire face lighting up and his bright blue eyes shining, and Dean’s screwed. He’s so screwed. When Castiel smiles he’s the most attractive guy Dean’s ever met, and he doesn’t really trust himself not to do or say something stupid.

He grabs Sam’s sleeve and hurries him out of the classroom. “Hey, we still on for lunch today?”

 

* * *

 

“What was that about?” Sam asks eventually around a mouthful of salad.

“Was what about?” Dean asks, feigning innocence.

Sam glares at him, a look of _I know what you’re doing and you know I know,_ and says “You’re into Castiel, right?”

“The hell did you know?” Dean grumbles.

“Dude, I know _you_.”

“Yeah, fine, I’m into Cas.”

“It’s _Cas_ already?”

“Keep talkin’ and you’re gonna be eating alone.”

“So? I have a lot of Ovid to get through—”

“You suck.”

Sam shrugs off the insult. “We driving to the Foxhole tonight?” he asks, changing the subject. “It’s freezing out.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “That means one of us is going to have to drink _responsibly.”_

“God forbid that person is you,” Sam says. “I bet _Cas_ is the kind of guy who goes for blind-drunk dudes who pass out at bars and get arrested for – what was the charge again, Dean?”

“Shut up, that was one time.” Dean glares at his brother. “ _Fine._ I’ll drive.”

“Good on you, man.” Sam smirks, clapping him on the shoulder as he heads off to the library.

“Bitch!” Dean calls at his retreating back.

“Jerk!” Sam returns before rounding a corner and disappearing from sight.

 

* * *

 

The fact they’re going to a bar instead of someone’s house means there’s an open invitation for roommates and partners to come along, and it’s a reasonably big crowd that greets Dean, Sam and Sam’s girlfriend Jess when they walk into the Foxhole – in addition to the Greek class there’s Kevin’s roommate Garth, Charlie’s girlfriend Jo (who happens to be an old family friend of Dean’s – he takes full credit for setting them up) and Meg’s roommates Ruby and Lilith. During the chorus of greeting that accompanies their arrival, Dean seeks out Castiel and finds him hunched between Meg and Ruby looking downright _scared._

Dean doesn’t blame him. Meg, Ruby and Lilith are all leather, eyeliner and hard stares, and even after two and a half years sharing a Greek class with Meg he still finds her a little intimidating – especially when she’s passionately discussing medieval torture techniques with a borderline psychotic gleam in her eye. She’s now chatting animately with Castiel, and while Dean can’t make out her words, her excitement points squarely to the topic being grievous bodily harm.

Poor Cas. Dean wonders if he should rescue him.

He orders a Coke from the bar, a move which fails to go unnoticed.

“Quiet night, Winchester?” Meg asks.

He pulls a face. “I’m driving.”

There’s a chorus of groans from the group – Dean’s the unofficial leader of the class, and he tends to set the tone for their get-togethers – but Meg jumps up and calls “Next round’s on me!” to answering cheers. Over the next hour everyone gets steadily more intoxicated – the girls have taken to the dance floor, and Jess has even dragged Sam out. Kevin’s sitting at the bar, drinking with intent – he had a chemistry test this afternoon which he’s pretty sure he bombed – and Garth is on the other side of the room trying to chat up a tall blonde girl – leaving Dean and Castiel the only ones sober. Castiel’s been nursing the same beer for the past half hour.

“Not much of a drinker?” Dean asks.

Castiel snorts. “I’m three months from finishing my master’s thesis, I’m a hell of a drinker. Just not tonight.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

“My brother’s on what he calls a _pub crawl.”_ Castiel waves his phone. “I’m on call to drive him home if he needs it. Or to post bail, which is quite likely, knowing him.”

“Older or younger?”

“Younger by eight minutes.”

“You’re twins?”

“We look nothing alike.” Castiel frowns thoughtfully. “We’re opposites in every sense of the word, except we share genetic material.”

“You guys close?”

“Surprisingly, yes. He’s been living in England for the past ten years – private boarding schools and Cambridge for university, but he’s home now.” Castiel drains the last of his beer. “It’s why I moved, because he got a job here. He is arrogant, morally deficient and difficult to live with, but he’s my brother.”

Dean chuckles. “I hear you. Well – Sammy’s hardly arrogant or morally deficient, but we’re not exactly similar.”

“You live with him?”

“Yeah, and Jess, and we have another roommate too. Benny. He works nights. What’s your brother’s name?”

“Balthazar.”

“Seriously?”

Castiel nods. “I’m lucky, comparatively speaking.”

“ _Balthazar?”_

Castiel just raises an eyebrow.

“Is he your only sibling?”

“No. I have two older sisters – Naomi and Anna – and a younger brother Sam. He’s still at school.”

“Those are pretty normal names. Why’d you get landed with the weird ones?”

“Anna is short for Anael and Sam is short for Samandriel.”

“I take it back.”

Shortly after eleven Castiel’s phone buzzes and he rolls his eyes at the loud, garbled voice on the other end. “Yes – okay. No, I’m not – where are you? – okay, stay there – no, don’t even – _Balthazar._ Yeah. Fine. I hate you.”

“I have to go,” he tells Dean, and smiles. “It was good spending time with you. _χαιρε.”_

Dean definitely does _not_ watch him leave.

 

**Author's Note:**

> translations:  
> χαιρε, ξενε - greetings, stranger  
> καθιζε - sit!  
> (if you're familiar with Greek then you'll notice I haven't put in accents because I'm lazy, I apologise)


End file.
